I find nearly every experience I have in the natural world to be interesting and magical since I live in a city and pretty much grew up a city kid. At least, my relatives in the Midwest called me a city kid even when I lived in a small town surrounded by tobacco fields in North Carolina because they really were out in the middle of nowhere and liked to make fun of me for pitying the worm speared on a hook and used as fish bait. My hometown in Japan was definitely a city, but people from Tokyo liked to make fun of people from Sasebo for being "country" and having an accent. So, it's all relative. The point is I am constantly awed by everything from snakes and manta rays to the sheer scale of natural formations, and as an adult I venture outside more and like hiking and camping. Living in the hustle of DC makes me appreciate everything from sitting at the summit of Old Rag to the amount of stars you can see when you're out of the city and away from light pollution.
From a young age I was concerned about "the end of the wild" and I was one of those that worried as much about wildlife and habitat conservation as I did about the social problems of humanity - not without a good dose of guilt, but as Meyer notes in his book human impact is the main driver of the biosphere and everything else now. While it is possible to lament the spectrum of problems, people are both victims and perpetuators whereas other species are pretty much at the mercy of the Anthropocene. I'm not saying this is right to prioritize one way or another, I'm just saying it is a less complicated narrative. In any case, Meyer frames "the end of the wild" as a crisis that is already here, and that we have already lost. This perspective reminds me of Assadourian's views; it is not inherently pessimistic, but there is a finality of acceptance and a focus on how to minimize the repercussions and build a better future. Meyer describes the end of the wild not as a barren world, but a different, less diverse, and less awesome one. We should not just continue business as usual, however. We cannot reverse what has been done but we must still take action to improve upon the worst possible scenario. He asserts, "Therefore, we should not evaluate these efforts in terms of their capacity to stop the end of the wild. Their enduring value is that they establish a moral imperative. Like the Ten Commandments, they remind us who we could be" (88). This again reminds me of Assadourian and his hope for a society post-crash that will not repeat history and humanity's mistakes. Meyer concedes defeat in losing the wild, and his only hope is a moral shift in the future where we finally act as stewards of the wild instead of consumers, and in a few million years it can thrive again.
Leopold has similar themes in his "Sand County Almanac" and ideas on the land ethic. As he puts it, "We all strive for safety, prosperity, comfort, long life, and dullness" (133) but as humans are efforts are that of conquerors of the land rather than as equal community members. This is unsustainable. Land is currently seen as property, "entailing privileges but not obligations" but under the land ethic, those obligations are highlighted and the land can be defined as more than just earth. If we value it philosophically rather than just economically, we can become better stewards and determine land use in a better and more well-rounded sense.
Palmer provides an interesting angle specifically on wildlife films and their role in conservation and entertainment. It is unfortunate that as a rule, "If you look at the choices made by the best-funded wildlife filmmakers, you'd have to conclude that controversy and serious advocacy are bad for business" (29) although An Inconvenient Truth is a clear exception. I wonder when serious advocacy can effectively be leveraged again, with our current political situation and polarization seeming to have a bigger effect on public opinion. Images are powerful, and perhaps the next big movement can come out of this medium.
I mentioned above how the issues of wilderness conservation can be sometimes be framed against that of social problems. In "Last Song for Migrating Birds," Franzen tackles this as well; the problems are not at odds but they do compete for priority in awareness or resources. In countries like Albania and Egypt, this competition is more pronounced. In describing the "sinkholes" around the Mediterranean for migrating birds, this issue is highlighted along with other compelling points that link to other themes in the readings and our course. For instance, hunters avoiding native species of birds and targeting migratory ones because "they're not our birds" shows an element of how responsibility is diffused in transboundary problems. Cooperative action is difficult; people care about localized manifestations but it can be much harder to conceptualize on a wider scale. Finally, Franzen tells the story in Egypt of freeing a particular songbird from a net and the conflict with young hunters, and how a single image or issue can be compelling. As the drama unfolded, he says "We were in a country where millions of birds were being killed, but I couldn't help worrying about this individual plover's fate." The causes of this problem are complex and systemic, but as humans we can easily empathize with a single story. This type of story be leveraged for wide-scale change, as we have seen in other examples as inspiration and catalysts for new movements.
Like I said, I see every interaction with the natural world as somewhat magical, even if it's just getting further into a forest so that you can only hear birds instead of cars. I can't tell if I'm just awed at more and more mundane and tame wilderness if we are at the end of the wild, or if I still have an appreciation of all wilderness that should be expanded and used for Meyer's moral shift to stem the crisis and plan ahead.
No comments:
Post a Comment